


Some Say

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [68]
Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: A Discovery of Witches AU, Demons, F/M, Happy Ending, Magic, Vampires, Witches, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25261078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: A witch, a vampire, a prophecy.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Series: Bughead Prompts [68]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1051748
Comments: 46
Kudos: 77





	1. Some Say

If she’s shaken, which she is, she tries not to show it, but she does. 

She trembles, in her periwinkle coat, the dusty books heavier in her hand than they were yesterday. Mildew clings to the old stone handles, but she presses forward, shoulders back, brave faced.

Veronica smiles brightly at her from the reception desk. She’s on her phone, multi-tasking, and just the sight of her makes Betty relax a little. Another witch, still right here, nothing’s different, nothing’s changed. Yesterday afternoon was a blip. Nothing to worry about. 

“Hey B, want me to renew those?”

Betty smiles, a little strained, but mostly earnest. “Please.” It's just like every other morning, just like every other morning-

“No worries.” Manicured hands take the load off her, type into the directory. “The library’s busy today.”

Betty frowns. Thrums her fingers against the counter thoughtfully. The wood speaks up to her, hums its story into her fingertips. “Is it?”

“It’s weird,” Veronica hands her back the books,. She’s dressed and polished like a shiny forest green opal; deep and dense as pine trees amid the dusty collection cases. “Classes don’t start again till fall. Eager students?”

“Maybe.” Betty echoes doubtfully, drifting into the halls. 

Veronica’s right. In the dim, ancient hall, crossbeams cover the ceiling, and for the first time in months, people fill the seats. 

There’s the sense of magic in the air. Crisp and a little toxic. 

Maybe this isn’t about her. Maybe something else is happening. Near the Equinox, maybe covens have flocked here for some congregation meeting. Maybe Betty’s been lucky, having this immense library to herself for months and now things are just returning to normal. 

She takes a seat in the far back, draped in shadows, and turns on the small desk light.

She jumps.

Opposite her, leaning against the cold, stone wall, is a man.

***

He’s pale, dark eyes, dark hair, and a trim suit.

He watches her intensely. 

Betty swallows, averting her eyes. Fine. She’s shared desk space before, this is-

“Doctor Cooper, I believe?” 

The air tickles in her throat. She risks a look up. He’s closer now. Leaning across the table on his elbows, head cocked like he’s listening to something intently.

It all clocks very quickly. His stillness, his paleness, he’s listening to her heartbeat.  _ Vampire.  _ She’s never been so close to one, not knowingly anyway. 

But she’s not one for prejudice. Not one to judge. So, Betty smiles gently, and replies quietly. “Yes? Can I help you?”

He smiles at her, amused. His eyes glitter. “Wonderful. Another American.” Comes the smooth, British voice. Full of inward-facing, not meant for other ears, low humour. “I’m Professor Jones. I’m a big fan of your work. Your paper on the history of alchemy? Inspired. I must confess I’ve read it a number of times.”

She feels seen. Looked at in a way she’s ever been looked at before. So she flusters, looks away. “Well, thank you, Professor Jones. I’m here on a fellow-ship residency. Oxford has the best resources.” She smiles, hopes it's friendly, but not too friendly, or - maybe, a little too friendly?

“Call me Jughead.” He insists. Then laughs, presumably at the look on her face. 

“'Another American'?” Betty asks, when she should get back to her research. “Do you know Veronica?”

Something flits across his face, too fast to be analysed. “A little.” He says vaguely, but he isn’t pulling away. There aren’t even any books on his side of the desk. No satchel or briefcase. No pretense that he was ever here for any reason that wasn’t Betty. 

_ Doctor Cooper, I believe?  _

He’s here for her.

He sees the moment she realises it, and he smiles again: more rueful this time.

“The library’s full today, isn’t it, Betty?”

“Doctor Cooper.” She grits back, defensive. “I have a lot of work to get done, so if you don’t mind-”

“But it was empty yesterday, wasn’t it? When you checked out that book?”

The flare of pain. The burn on her palm itches. The sound it had made, that book opening in her grasp. LIke a sonic blast. LIke a siren. She thought she could hope it away into nothing, but it was a beacon and sirens and sailors alike have swum to it. Hungry. 

“Ashmole 842 has been missing for centuries, Doctor Cooper. This library has never had a record of it, but yesterday, you requested it, and there it was.” His face is bright with excitement.

“I returned it.”

“Perhaps.” Jughead hums, and his eyes flicker to the other patrons pretending to read. His voice drops even lower. “Everyone here is watching you. Everyone is here for you.”

She knows he’s right. She can feel it. The prickle of their gazes. The spike of magic in the air. But she resists. “They’re staring because I’m talking to you.”

Jughead pulls away, he stands up. He’s tall, cut sharply,  _ handsome-  _ she realises suddenly. “You need to be careful.”

“Is that a threat?” She hisses, because her parents have taught her-

“No.” He frowns, backing away from her. Confused. As if he’s such a gentleman, as if he would never  _ threaten.  _ Betty doesn’t subscribe to prejudices, but she knows what vampires are known for and it isn’t the gentleness he’s pouring now. “It was a warning, Doctor Cooper. Some people will take what they want, and they won’t be kind about it.”

He pulls a card from his pocket. Small, crisp, white.

She takes it dubiously. "And you will?"

**Professor Jones - History. Rooms 234 &235**

“If you ever want to discuss what you found in that book or-” his eyes again, glance over the library full of creatures, “-anything else. Please feel free to find me.” He tucks in his chair then. “And good luck with your research, Doctor. Though I doubt you’ll need it.”

Betty watches him go, as do a number of others. When he goes, disappeared into the shadows of the hall, eyes swivel to her.

“Okay,  _ no.”  _ She whispers to herself, getting to her feet with a clatter.

A hundred eyes watch her go, and they don’t stop staring till she’s back in her apartment and the door locks, warded, behind her. 


	2. We Have All But Disappeared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty goes to Jughead for help.

He’s not turning around. 

Betty swallows hard, tries to focus on something else. Not the tormented figure he makes, facing his impressive bookshelf, head bowed; shoulders tense. Why won’t he say anything? She needs him to say something. Anything. She can’t get the image of Hiram, viscous, wrapped in magic, with his glowing eyes, in her head, in her head, he won’t get out of her head-

“Could you please.” Jughead grits out, “try to calm down. Your pulse is racing, it’s very distracting.”

Right. Vampire. Right. She takes a long, deep breath, tries to calm down. She doesn’t want to make this harder for him. She’s grateful, very grateful, she should have listened to his warning and-

***

The burn on her hand singes in the sunlight. Like it’s linked to the book. Like it’s only used to shadows and the cool, deep, dark. 

“Miss Cooper,” Hiram had murmured, a little surprised, “I’m not quite sure you grasp the importance of that book.”

“ _ Doctor  _ Cooper.” Betty bites back. Why do men  _ do  _ that? “And no, I’m not sure I do.”

Hiram smiles at her, indulgent, like he’s giving a little girl an icecream. “Doctor Cooper, the ashmole could contain the answers of all species. Of how witches created vampires.”

“Vampires?” She shifts, thoughts of Jughead.

“Vampires have used their brute force and longevity to attain far too much power. Of the nine representatives on the council, there are  _ four  _ vampires. Three witches, two demons. Is that fair?”

“I’m not-”

Hiram’s eyes are blown wide, he looks drunk with the idea of power. “I believe witches created vampires. That book will prove me right. And if witches created them, then we can  _ un _ create them.” His voice quivers, he looks at her expectantly, full of excitement, as though Betty will understand now, his desperation. 

She only sees his depravity. Horrified, she gets to her feet. “I have  _ no  _ interest in that.  _ None.  _ It's genocide."

He grabs her arm. Hard. “You need to call the book up again, Miss Cooper. You  _ have  _ to. For the good of the coven.”

“I don’t  _ have  _ to do anything.” She hisses, baring her teeth. A few people in the coffee shop are looking at them now; murmuring. “Now let go of me.”

He does, but it seems a temporary thing. 

She glides over the cobbles, navigates the cyclists of Oxford, and rushes back to her rooms.

She senses something’s wrong before she gets there. It makes her slow. It makes her sweat. The door to her room is blown open. Her room is ransacked. Papers, her books, strewn all over the floor. Her mattress flipped. She steps inside, taking it all in, tracing her fingers over the once pristine set of hardbacks.

She doesn’t know what to  _ do.  _

Against gravity, a piece of paper jumps out of her pocket and into her hand.

It presses against the burn; soothes it. 

**Professor Jones - History. Rooms 234 &235\. **

He was right.

Betty grabs her duffel bag off the top of the wardrobe. She can’t stay here. She shoves her belongings into it; items fly into her hands.

Her phone rings: it’s Veronica.

Betty hesitates, but answers. 

“Hello?”

“ _ Betty! Thank god, I just found out my dad’s in town. He wants to have dinner tonight and he asked if I could bring my very best friend. Quelle surprise! I know it’s short notice, but he’ll take us somewhere fancy-” _

“I already saw him- this afternoon. He threatened me in a coffee shop.”

_ “What?” _

“He wants the book. The book I called up.”

“ _ What? What book?” _

She didn’t feel it. Of course, she didn’t. Veronica is wonderful and clever, and Betty loves her all the more for her lack of magic. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “V, I’ll call you back, okay?”

“ _...Sure. Okay. Keep me posted.” _

***

It’s early evening when she finally gets to Jughead’s rooms. Lavender streaks across the sky, and she knocks on 235. 

234 was empty- a study, with a board out front full of tutorial times. He’s fully booked up for the next few weeks- he’s quite the in demand academic.

God, what is she doing? She doesn’t even  _ know  _ him-

The door opens, and he’s there, in a white button down, a glass of wine in his hand. 

He looks surprised to see her, but he opens the door wider. “Doctor Cooper.”

“You were right.”

***

Once she’s got her breathing under control, he turns to face her.

He’d poured her a glass of wine to match his own, but her nerves were frayed (exactly why she’d needed one in the first place) She’d immediately dropped the fat glass onto the tiles floors. She’d waited for it to smash. To burst like a bubble, burgundy spilling across the ground and flooding the veins of the stonework, black and bloody. 

But he’d caught it. In the blink of an eye, vampire reflexes, pinched by the stem, only a singular drop landing on the ground.

He’d offered her a seat and said; “perhaps water.”

Now, he turns. He looks tired, she thinks. Vampires don’t sleep. Can they get tired?

“Misconception.” Jughead sighs, resting against the bookshelves, but facing her now. His eyes are closed, long lashes crest against his cheekbones. “We do need sleep. A few hours every few years, but we like it.”

“Can you read my mind?” She asks, horrified.

“No,” he murmurs, “but your face is very expressive. I find it easy to read. The darkness under my eyes? I could use a few minutes. The past few days have been trying.”

She feels guilty, suddenly. For intruding like this. But he’d offered-

“They came into your rooms?” He asks.

“Searched it,” she nods, “for the book.”

“You don’t have any friends you could stay with? A place you could hide?”

“I only know Veronica in Oxford, and her dad-”

“Yes.” Jughead frowns, shaking his head. “Embroiled.”

_What_? She feels frustrated. “You gave me your card, you said you’d help-”

“I will help.” Jughead glares at her. “You’re just much more potent like this. Your blood. It’s-” the ash tree bats at the window. The lavender sky is disappearing now. Dark, grey clouds are coming. The limestone walls creak. “Old buildings,” he swallows, pulling his eyes away from her.

She doesn’t understand. Vampires aren’t beasts, they don’t  _ long  _ for blood, though they need it to survive, a few feedings every decade-

_ Oh.  _

“You’re craving me.” She surmises. Amazed her voice is steady when inside, everything is spiralling. What is happening? A thousand things at once. When it rains, it pours. 

He looks shame-faced. “I’m sorry,” he croaks. “Of course, you’re in no danger, I would never-”

She knows that. But now she can see it. The way his eyes lock on her cheeks when she flushes. When she turns her head, the gaze on her neck. Hungry, but not in the same way Hiram was for power. She doesn’t understand the crave, doesn’t think anyone who isn’t a vampire can, but she knows it isn’t just for blood. There’s something else there, something primal. An attraction, perhaps.

Is it too much to think that? There’s something about him-

She curses herself. She’s in actual  _ danger-  _

“They think I still have the book.” She says, bringing them back on track.

“But you returned it.”

There’s doubt, in his voice. Betty looks up at him; awed. “You don’t think I did? You think I’d _steal_ from the Bodelian?”

“I don’t know you, Doctor Cooper.” Jughead says honestly, taking a seat opposite her. Every step closer to her a statement, a well earned brag, about his control. She feels safe. “I’ve been searching for that book for…” his gaze is wistful, “...well, a very long time. Long before the bodelian was built. Am I to trust that you would return a book so desired by creatures for as long as it has existed? A book so full of power and knowledge?”

“Yes.” She says, meeting his eyes, blue to green, “you are.”

He doesn’t press her. “Did Hiram tell you what he wanted?”

“He wants to uncreate vampires. He thinks witches made them.”

Jughead scoffs. “The arrogance.”

“You don’t think that’s what’s in the book?”

“I think it contains details on our origins. I want to understand what we are. How we are.” He moves, barely a shift, but he suddenly has a book in his hand and his bookcase sighs a delay of relief. He moves so  _ fast.  _ He hands her a copy of Origin of Species.

He smiles at her, a little wry. 

“We’re very human, deep down, I think.”

She can’t help but smile back. She opens the book, and written in the front page is:  _ To my distant friend, Jughead - C Darwin.  _

Her jaw drops. “ _ No.”  _

He grins. “Yes.”

“You knew Charles Darwin?!”

“What a mind.”

She feels giddy. “Oh my god, what was he like? How old are you? Did you see him write origin? Did he talk to you? Did you exchange letters? Do you have them?”

He gazes at her, and she feels blood rush to her cheeks, and he smiles again; almost like he can’t help himself. “There’s time, for that. For now, perhaps you should ward this place? You can sleep in my room.”

“You have a bed?”

“For appearance’s sake.”

It feels intimate, asking that. Like there's a dirty joke hanging in the air, but neither of them say anything. He might not be able to read her mind, but she knows he knows what she's thinking.

She nods, standing. “Thank you- Jughead. I- you’re right, we don’t know each other, but I feel- like I can trust you. I trust you.”

He bows his head. “Doctor Cooper.”

“Betty. You can call me Betty.”

“Betty then,” he whispers, and she likes the way it sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely comments, gorgeous people.


	3. But Vampires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead and Betty go to Cornwall.

_ “Oh my god,”  _ Alice hisses, _ “a vampire? Are you out of your mind?”  _

That’s been the consensus from pretty much everyone so far. Betty barrels ahead. “Mom. Focus.” She mutters, then has to bite back her smile when she catches Jughead judgmentally mouthing  _ mom  _ over his laptop like he doesn’t like the way it tastes. “The book. Have you ever heard of it?”

_ “Of course I have, Elizabeth.”  _ Alice humphs, “ _ Ashmole 842 is a living legend among any self-respecting witch. I suppose Hiram has been in touch? He’s always been obsessed.” _

This isn’t helping. Betty wonders why she thought it would. “Do you know anything about it?”

A sigh. “ _ Betty, it’s never been seen. I don’t know if it even exists. There are rumours, of course, but no. I don’t. Anyway, how’s your diet coming along?” _

Betty hangs up hard.

She turns, and Jughead is mulling over his research and she knows he heard every word, but he’s pretending not to.

She sighs, and collapses into the seat opposite him. 

It’s nice here.  _ Jones Manor.  _ A huge white block on the Cornish countryside. They’d had to get out of Oxford and it made sense here. She’s certainly found it comfortable. The grand rooms, the silk bedding. Here she is, barefoot, curled up on an expensive chair, looking at a very handsome man who’d made her breakfast.

Her mother would be proud.

“You had the Ashmole.” Jughead says, still a little sleepy-eyed, “Didn’t you open it?”

She nods. It’s words had burned, had crawled onto her hand and  _ scorched.  _

He turns back to his research. “From I see we have two options. One, get the book, learn from it. Two, get the book, destroy it.” His steel eyes meet hers. “Up to you.”

*

Sweet Pea greets her at the bottom of the staircase. She smiles at him; and he nods at her.

“When you get the book- if it has anything to do with Demons-”

“I’ll tell you.” She promises. Sweet Pea nods, and stalks away. 

Jughead appears then, holding two bowls of cubed honeydew. He holds one out to her, in a dark green sweater. “Made up your mind?”

“No,” she lies, wanting to stay here, in this warm, grand, domesticity. “Not yet.”

*

When his father died, Jellybean took the role Jughead should have, and went and sat on the congregation. 

“Thank you,” he’d said to her, a little broken, and she’d held his hands and nodded. 

She protects him, this powerful vampire, lets him study and learn and write. 

But  _ Betty.  _ This threatens everything. This is a sharpness even Jellybean will not be able to blunt. With hair like spun gold and eyes like the ocean- the ocean how it was. Back when the world was newer and the Aztecs sang and the water was clean. Eyes that tell of a history that she understands even though she hasn’t lived through it. 

Beautiful. Beautiful, and oh so powerful. He sees it in her every movement. Leaves and flowers crane to her touch, the wind caresses her cheeks, she’s wound in nature. Made from it. The spike of power, the beacon, in the library that day. He’d been in the street, head down, and his entire being had prickled. Set alight.

He wants to study her. Wants to- to protect her. He feels, for the first time since the fall of Carthage- like picking up a sword. LIke donning a shield. Like charging into battle. 

How can she  _ be?  _ Unlike any witch he’s ever met. That sharp-teethed, feral Veronica that makes him feel like a stranger on his own territory. Betty doesn’t look at him and see  _ vampire.  _ Betty sees a person.

So, when Jellybean calls him, tone hard (maybe fond, maybe fond if he listens  _ hard)  _

_ “Why am I hearing things, Jug? About Hiram? The congregation are antsy. What shit are you in now?” _

He holds the phone to his ear, watches Betty admire old paintings, in a pink jumper, hair wrapped up in a bun. “It’s...bad.”

_ “Crap. Better be worth it.” _

This, he can answer with confidence. “It is.”

*

“And Marlowe?” Betty breathes, as the rural farms give way to the fringes of the old city. 

“Funny,” Jughead hums, remembering, his fingers are loose on the steering wheel. She watches the curl of his fingers. Old, old, hands. How old? His references are obscure, sometimes he slips up, she swears. References something  _ too old.  _ Too ancient. She loves it all the more. “He was really funny. Kind. Just- a little carefree. Not a bad thing.”

“Tell me about an encounter you had. The two of you. About a typical day-”

“No, Betty,” he laughs, “my throat is hoarse. Tell me about you. Where did you grow up?”

She winces, tries to hide it, but he catches it. She laughs; nervous. “Honestly? There’s no tragic back story. I grew up in a nice, safe town. In a nice house, with a nice school.”

“Are both your parents witches?”

“My mom is. I have a sister too, a big sister: Polly. She’s travelling the world.” Nice, neat boxes. She can file people into, not think too much-

“You get along?”

“Yes.” Family dinners, christmases, they flash before her eyes- like postcards. Holiday letters. Snapshots fill the album, pretty, pretty, pretty-

“But not so nice. You came here, after all.”

He doesn’t pry. He probably has experience being patient. Betty nods, biting her lip to stop it from trembling. “I did.”

“Ever want to go back?”

_ With the right person,  _ she thinks. Picturing British Jughead with his sombre face and dry, dark humour standing in her bright, wild town and how he might make it brighter. “Someday,” she says. 

*

When Jughead pulls into the faculty parking space, there’s another, sleek black car across the lot.

They both realise at the same time. 

“Hiram,” the whisper, in unison. 

“Don’t get out of the car.” Jughead warns, glare hard, and she feels a little like a maiden with a knight. A woman with a bodyguard. “Let’s drive away.”

Is he waiting for- permission? Betty shakes her head. “I’m going to talk to him.” Her hand finds the cool clutch of the handle. 

“No, Betty, please.” Jughead grits out, and he turns to face her then. Face taught with worry; agony. “If I get out there and confront him this becomes an issue. A congregation issue. He’ll claim vampires are attacking witches-”

“I don’t need you to get out of the car, Jug.” She promises gently, “I can do this on my own.”

“No….” he beseeches.

She reaches over, takes his hand. It’s warm. Which surprises her. “Trust me.”

She feels like she could melt into him but retain her shape. He stares at her, pleading. Olive skin and frayed hair and blown pupils.

He nods.

It’s warm, a mild evening, and Hiram beams at her, though his eyes dart to Jughead’s car; excited. He won’t get what he’s after. 

“It occurs to me, Betty,” Hiram sighs, “that I went about this all wrong. Some incentive, perhaps? What would you like? A seat on the congregation? A promotion here at Oxford? A position at another institution?”

She sneers at him. “I work for what I have.”

He beams at her. “Very old fashioned. Well, what would you like?”

“There’s nothing you can offer me.” She spits, turning away. 

He laughs. “And yet you’re back. That tells me you’re going to get the book. What are you going to do with it?” His voice turns cold. “Give it to the vampires? You’d betray your own kind-”

“It is none of your business-”

“Come, Betty, come,” he whispers, like velvet, beckoning. “Just tell me- what was in the book? You must have read it, must have seen something, some clue. To wet the tongue, to sate me-”

“You’re sick.” She spits, almost unable to look at him. “Deranged. Goodbye.”

She marches then, back to Jughead’s car, but she can hear Hiram clear as a bell when he says: “I’ll have to resort to firmer tactics, Miss Cooper. Let’s keep this friendly. I'm a fair man.” 

It’s not friendly, when with a thought, the wind whips at Hiram hard, hail summoned from the air, spitting against his face, flicking hard against his skin so he staggers back.

She catches her breath, and gets into the car.

“Drive,” she whispers, as Jughead starts the ignition. He follows her demand instinctively. She’s no maiden with a knight, no woman with a bodyguard-

She’s a queen with a soldier. 

“Don’t leave Oxford." She orders, "I’m getting that book.”

*

They sit in the early morning light opposite the Bodelian. It's arches look like they touch the sky. Clouds hang low, the spires stretch high. Hiram’s ridiculous goons litter the entry way. Betty and Jughead sit, hiding.

“They’ll leave eventually,” Jughead reassures.

Betty wonders what her mom would say. That Jughead has been playing her. That he’ll snatch the book as soon as she’s summoned it. That he’ll sink his teeth into her the moment her back is turned. 

Then she thinks of the cool silk sheets of Cornwall, and how he sliced her melon, and showed her paintings.

“There was a drawing,” she whispers, and Jughead turns to her; confused. “In the book...the alchemical child, maybe, but not like I’d ever seen it.” His eyes go wide, memorising her words. This book, he’s been searching for, for so long. She wonders what this scrap of information must mean to him. The significance it must hold. The secrets she’s revealing, priceless in a way that she doesn’t understand. “There was secret writing- like lemon water, visible only in the right light. The drawing was upside down. The first four pages look like they’d been torn out.” She closes her eyes; remembers. “It smelt...odd. Like fire. But water logged. It felt...powerful.”

When she opens her eyes, Jughead is before her, leaning over the the gear shift.

He reaches slowly for her hand, turns it over, sees the burn on her palm. 

She watches; frozen, breathless, as he brings her hand to his lips. She should pull away. He craves her-

No teeth. No danger. No fear. He kisses her wrist. Her pulse point.

“Betty,” he whispers, voice like gravel, like tears, like gratitude. “Thank you.”

She feels alight.  _ Right.  _ He is no Hiram. He is Jughead Jones.

He’s  _ hers.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you, chickadees!

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, let me know down below :) x also please, i could really use some ideas for how to continue this XD


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